“A great storm is brewing,” Prior Jacob called out to the brothers. “We must secure all the windows and see to the animals.”
“The manuscripts must be protected,” Friar Gregory called out as he rushed toward the great room where the scribes worked. It had glazed windows, but the wind was so strong that a branch or some other debris could easily shatter the glass. Several friars followed Friar Gregory, while Prior Jacob divided the remaining brothers into groups and assigned them areas to secure. The animals were a priority, but the storage shed, where sacks of flour were kept, was a particular area of concern. If the doors of the shed blew open, the lashing rain would soak into the flour, rendering it unusable. The brothers used the flour not only for themselves, but to bake bread for the poor. They handed the loaves out at the alms gate, which would be mobbed after the storm.
Two hours later, the friars gathered inside the church for Terce. They were wet, tired, and hungry, but would have to wait to attend to their needs until after the service.
“We should offer up a prayer for the townsfolk,” Friar William suggested. The friars’ heads bobbed in agreement as they took their places. Prior Jacob was in his usual spot at the front of the church. He couldn’t desert his brothers during the storm, nor was it safe to travel to see the bishop as he’d intended, particularly since he’d planned on walking the whole way.
**
The wind whipped Petra’s cloak, making it billow like a sail behind her. She tried to gather it around herself, but the gusts were too strong and tore away her only protection against the elements. Petra’s headpiece was askew, and tendrils of wet hair stuck to her face and blew into her eyes. She could barely see where she was going, so she gave up on the cloak and shielded her face instead, desperate to protect her eyes. Sand and grit blew from the direction of the beach as the storm gathered force, the wind moaning like a wailing woman. A large branch came hurtling past Petra’s head and scratched her cheek before smashing against the wall of a nearby house. Several men were in the street, securing the removable shutters by hammering in horizontal planks of wood to keep the shutters from being torn out by the wind. This would protect the interiors of their homes from getting wet.
Petra could see several masts in the distance. They seemed to be thrusting up and down rather violently, their tops disappearing into the glowering sky and then coming down again as waves pounded the shore. Petra took shelter behind a stone building and leaned against the wall, panting with exertion. Lady Blythe would need her today, but she couldn’t walk another mile to her house, not in this weather. She would have to turn back and wait out the storm. Petra hoped that Thomas was at home. He would see to the house and his mother. This wouldn’t be the first storm he’d weathered.
Petra allowed herself a few moments to catch her breath, then stepped out from behind her shelter and instantly drew back with a cry of alarm. A deluge of water was moving toward her, the wave carrying chunks of wood, household items, and even a cat, who was struggling to keep its head above water and meowing desperately. Petra couldn’t see any people, but she heard the screams as the rushing water knocked those townspeople foolish enough to be out in the storm off their feet and carried them along. The men who’d been outside only moments before scurried indoors, slamming the doors shut against the flood. Petra turned on her heel and began to run as fast as she could. The wind was at her back now that she turned for home, so she was able to move more quickly, outrunning the gushing water. She glanced back over her shoulder, relieved to see the water receding and leaving a trail of debris in its wake. The poor cat was still alive, if terrified and soaked to the bone. It ran for its life as soon as its paws found purchase on the muddy ground, instinctively heading away from the sea.
Frightened and out of breath, Petra judged it safe enough to slow her pace. She kept her eyes glued to the opening between the houses, and sure enough, another surge of water came rushing from the beach, this one higher and stronger. Petra watched in horror as a child of about five, who had stepped outside, was swept off her feet and carried along. She was splashing and screaming for her mother, who threw herself into the churning water and tried to catch hold of her daughter’s foot. She child was sucked under, and the mother screamed for help, paralyzed with fear as she was nearly knocked off balance and submerged in icy water. A man, who might have been the girl’s father, rushed to her aid and managed to fish the thrashing child out of the water before the wave began to recede. The little girl howled with fright and clung to her mother, who was soaked but oblivious to anything besides the child in her arms. The man glanced toward the sea before grabbing the woman by the arm and pulling her along toward higher ground.
Petra didn’t wait around for the next wave. She began to run, bursting into her house and throwing her body against the door as she slid the bolt into place.
“Girls, quick, get me a wooden plank,” Petra cried.
“Where are we supposed to get a plank?” Ora demanded.
“Get one out from under your mattress,” Petra screamed. “Do it now.”
The girls scrambled to pull the straw-stuffed mattress off and yanked out one of the planks that formed the bottom of their bed.
“What’s happened?” Maude cried. “Why did you come back?”
“Mother, we need to secure the house and leave,” Petra screamed. “We must get to higher ground. The sea is coming for us. Children, come. Now!”
“Petra, are you mad? We’re more than a mile away from shore. We’re perfectly safe here.”
“Not this time,” Petra threw over her shoulder. “Edwin, put up the shutter, and push it in as hard as you can.”
The children looked terrified as Petra carefully opened the door and peered outside. She could see a swell of water in the distance, but judged it safe to run. Petra ushered the children outside and grabbed her mother under the arm. “Let’s go, Mother.”
She shut the door behind them and wedged the wooden plank between the ground and the door. She had to apply all her strength to push it in. The plank would keep the door from bursting open from the pressure of the rushing water and hopefully keep the water from flooding the house. It wasn’t much, but it was the best she could do on such short notice. She prayed that the water wouldn’t reach the window.
Maude gasped when she stepped outside and saw the destruction. The water hadn’t reached them yet, but in the distance, down the street, a few houses were already in ruins. Several trees had been torn out by the roots and lay on the ground, blocking the street until the next wave would carry them along, their branches and trunks causing further damage. Edwin grabbed his grandmother by the arm and pulled her along, urging her to move faster. Maude lowered her head to keep the rain out of her eyes and allowed Edwin to lead her. Her cloak and barbet were already wet, and her feet slipped on the wet ground, making walking precarious. Ora and Elia were way ahead of them, running like frightened rabbits.
The water had come closer than Petra expected in a very short time, but the storm showed no signs of abating. It must have started during the night, while they were all asleep, believing themselves to be safe behind the walls of their homes. The sea had claimed plenty of houses just like the ones Petra lived in during past storms. She couldn’t remember any fearful storms herself, but she’d heard the stories and saw the tops of water-submerged buildings protruding from the sea at very low tide. They looked like the jagged teeth of some sea monster that was about to come up from the watery depths and devour the rest of the town.
Petra lifted her skirts and began to run after her mother and the children. Many others had the same idea, and the streets were congested with families trying to save themselves. Children screamed with fright, and women fought to stay upright as they herded their offspring and clutched whatever small possessions they could carry. Several men tried to help the old and infirm to dry land and then went back for others who were stranded further down the street, but their efforts were hindered. They slipped in the knee-deep silt and, m
ore often than not, needed help themselves.
It was absolute chaos. Everywhere one looked, there was a mass of humanity pursued by gallons of churning water. It was like some Biblical plague come to drown the sinners. Petra swallowed down a sob as she glanced in the direction of Lady Blythe’s house. All she could see was destruction and huge, terrifying waves. The masts were no longer there, the ships smashed to pieces by the force of the gale. Every surge brought more silt and debris, but the latest waves also carried corpses, leaving them behind like bits of rubbish once the water receded. A few brave souls tried to retrieve them to keep them from being swept out to sea, but most people just ran for their lives, urging their loved ones to go faster.
Maude was trembling with fatigue by the time they finally reached a safe spot. She sank to the ground next to several other bedraggled elderly people. The earth was wet and cold, but Maude’s legs would no longer hold her up, and she was grateful for solid ground beneath her. The rest of the townspeople remained upright, their gazes glued to the normally placid sea. They watched in stunned silence as great waves formed in the distance and crashed into the town with unbridled force. Houses folded as if they were built of paper, their walls falling haphazardly into the foaming seawater and rushing along with the current. The wind was even stronger on higher ground. It tore at hair and cloaks, turning the skin red and raw with cold.
Dozens of people took shelter behind the walls of the Leper Hospital. The stone walls shielded them from the wind, but most folk were too afraid to go near it and preferred to remain out in the open. Petra wrapped her arms about the children as she tried to keep them from getting separated. People were rushing toward them in droves, pushing the stragglers out of their way and knocking them to the ground if they were too slow. The noise was deafening.
Petra froze in terror when she noticed the look in Edwin’s eyes. She knew the signs; she’d seen them often enough. Edwin was on a verge of a fit. The fits happened most often in times of stress, and Edwin had been half-dragging his grandmother up the hill for the past half hour. He was physically drained, scared out of his wits, and overwhelmed by the panic all around him.
“Edwin, no!” Petra moaned, but it was too late.
Edwin collapsed onto his side at her feet. The look of fear in his eyes vanished, replaced by the unseeing stare that always accompanied the convulsions. Edwin’s limbs began to twitch, and his face contorted into a grotesque grimace as saliva ran from the corner of his mouth. Several people stopped to stare. Their faces twisted with fear and hatred once they understood what they were looking at. Someone pointed a finger and others gathered around to watch Edwin’s suffering. Petra tried to shield him from prying eyes, but it was too late. Everyone saw what was happening, and the spectacle momentarily distracted them from the chaos below. The animosity of the townspeople was palpable, and they drew closer, advancing on Edwin, who was still writhing on the ground. Petra’s gaze flew from one face to another, searching for a spark of sympathy, but all she saw was hostility. A terrible panic seized her.
“Please,” she begged. “Don’t touch him. He’s unwell.”
“Unwell?!” someone snarled. “Look at him. He’s possessed.”
A few heads nodded in agreement. “He’s been taken over by an evil spirit,” a woman shrieked as she pointed at Edwin. “He’s speaking in tongues.”
In fact, Edwin wasn’t saying anything at all, but a low hissing came from his lips, which was enough to give credence to the woman’s accusation. The woman shrieked in terror, her shaking finger pointing at Edwin as if he were about to attack her. She crossed herself and began muttering a prayer as she backed away, too terrified to turn her back toward the poor boy.
Petra threw herself on top of Edwin. “Leave him alone!” she screamed. “It’s nothing to do with you. See to your own children.”
Petra cried out as someone tried to pull her off her son. Edwin was just coming around, his eyes regaining focus as the fit began to pass. Petra fought free of her assailant’s grasp and crawled back toward Edwin.
“Edwin,” she called, terrified. “Edwin.”
She suddenly noticed a brown-robed figure rushing toward them and breathed a sigh of relief. The friar would help her. He was sure to know Edwin from the priory and would try to calm the townspeople, who would respect his authority.
“Please, help me, Brother,” Petra cried. The mob was upon her, pushing and pulling at her in order to get to Edwin, who was now fully conscious and sobbing with fright.
“You!” the friar screamed. “You are the whore who spawned this bastard. He’s the Devil’s familiar, and this storm is the manifestation of God’s wrath. He sent it to cleanse this evil town from the likes of you!”
The friar was shaking with outrage, his face contorted with religious fervor. Two more friars appeared at his heels. Their damp hair was plastered to their skulls and the skirts of their robes billowed around their legs, exposing milky-white ankles. They were bearing down on her, wooden crosses held in front of them to ward off evil.
“Friar Gregory,” Edwin moaned. He tried to sit up, but the friar knocked him back down. People were shouting and cursing, their fear and anger having found a target. They craved violence, and now it was sanctioned by the Church.
Petra screamed like a wounded animal when someone grabbed her by the arms and pulled her aside.
“It’s me, Petra.” For a brief moment, she thought that Avery had come to their rescue, but it wasn’t Avery.
Thomas pushed her out of the way and forced his way through the crowd toward Edwin, leaving Petra at the mercy of the mob. Anonymous hands grabbed at her and tore at her cloak and gown. Someone scratched her face and yanked a fistful of her hair, forcing Petra to her knees. A woman who lived in her street kicked her in the ribs, and several people followed her example, encouraged by Petra’s inability to defend herself. People shouted abuse and called her names, but most of the onlookers were more interested in Edwin. It was him they wanted. They’d deal with Petra later. Petra tried to see between the legs of her attackers, searching for the girls. She’d lost sight of them the moment Edwin collapsed. Petra prayed that they were safe and with their grandmother. She rolled onto her side and curled into herself, arms over her head and knees drawn up to protect her head and stomach. She could just make out Edwin and Thomas through the forest of shins.
Thomas lifted Edwin off the ground and held him close. The mob seemed to hold its breath, suddenly unsure of what to do. Lord Devon wasn’t one of them; he was a nobleman, a man who commanded respect and obedience, but the indecision was short-lived. The crowd surged forward again, screaming and demanding that Thomas hand Edwin over. The three friars were at the forefront, shaking their fists and calling on God to strike Thomas down for aiding and abetting the Devil.
Thomas roared with fury as he elbowed Edwin’s assailants out of the way, desperate to get him out of harm’s way, but there was nowhere for him to go. He was surrounded, and there was nothing he could do to appease the mob. The friar’s accusation took hold like a flame spreading through dry wood. The mob closed in, their eyes full of fanatic fervor. Petra didn’t see who threw the first stone, but it hit Thomas in the shoulder. He barely noticed the blow as he tried to fight his way out, his arms around Edwin, whose face was pressed against Thomas’s chest. The second rock struck him in the head. Blood trickled down his temple as his eyes met Petra’s. They were full of regret. He was one man, and he was helpless against a mob of dozens.
No one heard Petra’s scream of anguish. They were too fixated on man and child. People were closing in. Edwin was torn from Thomas’s arms and thrown to the ground. A cudgel was produced. Petra tried to fight her way through the crowd, but someone struck her in the head, and she went down on her knees. The last thing she saw before she hit the ground was Thomas warding off the blows of the cudgel.
“Edwin,” she muttered. “Edwin.”
Chapter 56
March 2014
London, England
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Quinn hurled the cross across the room, desperate to break the connection between her and Petra. Quinn’s eyes were streaming, and she was shaking with emotion, shocked and sickened by what she’d just seen. She’d been devastated when Elise and James died in the trunk Lord Asher had locked them in, but at least those two had been guilty of something, had had something to hide. Petra and Edwin were completely innocent, Petra’s only sin being her love for Avery. They’d been victims of an enraged and ignorant mob, the people of Dunwich needing someone to blame for what was happening to them. They saw the storm as an act of God, a punishment and a lesson, when in fact it had simply been an act of nature combined with the unfortunate location of the town.
Quinn slid off the sofa, picked up the cross, and reverently stowed it away in its plastic bag. It was the only thing left of a young woman who’d seen nothing but suffering and disappointment in her short life and had been humiliated even in death. And poor Edwin. He’d been a sweet, kind boy who suffered from a condition which could have been brought under control had he been born a few hundred years later.
He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone. The words danced in Quinn’s mind, making her shake with anger. If people ever looked to their own faults, many lives would have been saved throughout the ages. Someone had cast that first stone, and someone had found a cudgel and attacked Thomas, who tried to shield Edwin with his own body. Quinn now knew what happened to Petra and Edwin, and why. They hadn’t found Thomas’s grave next to mother and son, but at the moment, Quinn couldn’t bear to find out what happened to him.
The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2) Page 30